Under The Influence
by Kandakicksass
Summary: A vengeful Malfoy curses Harry, but the damages are far worse than he could have anticipated, leaving behind a ruined Harry Potter and a stunned Snape with more power over him than he ever could have dreamed. HEAVY slash. Rated for VERY good reason.
1. Chapter 1

**I promised I would write a baby!Draco story for my next Drarry after I finished Ingenious Devices, and I will, but as a breather, I've decided to work on a five-chapter Snarry first as a break of sorts. Please enjoy!**

Harry James Potter, age fifteen, was ninety-nine point nine percent sure Severus Tobias Snape (officially dubbed the most sadistic teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that was impressive considering they also had Argus Filch on staff) was in a bad mood.

Maybe it was the sneer on his face, or the sheer force he was using as he attacked the feeble shield between his consciousness and Harry's memories. Either way, it didn't matter. Harry was exhausted, and his angry teacher happened to be the reason. Fighting back against Snape's attacks was a difficult thing and it took all of his willpower not to give in to the fatigue and just let him in. It wasn't like there was anything particularly exciting for him to find, anyway- a few beatings here and there, a single pathetic kiss with a fourth year girl (which wasn't his idea anyway; she had jumped him), an _accidental_snog that Snape already knew about, and a few tender moments with his friends. It wasn't like he was trying to hide anything from his teacher, anyway; it was the sheer annoyance at being the punching bag Snape was using to get his frustrations out that spurred him to keep pushing back.

Snape threw attack after attack at his mental wall with fire in his dark eyes. He looked tired, just as tired as Harry was, and he watched a bead of sweat slide down his pallid face, but more than that, he looked seriously pissed and he wouldn't stop until he'd won once more. Harry could only imagine what sort of horrible mood Snape would be put in when Harry finally succeeded in keeping him out for good. He almost looked forward to it, in a way.

Finally, his wall broke and he felt that irrationally _infuriated_probing, rummaging through his consciousness not from interest but just from the knowledge that Harry hated having him in his head. He didn't react, just retracted what little bit of the wall that still remained and slumped in the chair he sat in, feeling more than watching as his professor went through a few more recent memories- chess with Ron, studying with Hermione, that accidental kiss with Malfoy that had oddly enough turned into a snogging session that had left him somewhat confused yet overly pleased with the fact he had left the blonde in disarray, pulled away (coincidentally) by the same teacher who now looked upon the memory with a grimace.

"That was not something I wanted to see again, Mr. Potter," he said calmly, but Harry could see the effort he was using to resist growling.

"It wasn't something I wanted to _do_," he retorted, but he couldn't help thinking fondly on the memory anyway. "I'm not gay, as stereotypical as that sounds. It just sort of happened, and who would pass up the chance to mess with Malfoy?" He saw his professor's mouth shut into a tight line and he winced as the fateful words came, thought it didn't surprise him.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek and for harassing another student," Snape said smoothly and seemed far too pleased by the opportunity to deduct points. "As for your Occlumency, I will be honest. You're improving... slowly." His eyes bored into Harry's. "We are finished here, but as a parting thought- keep the wall up. Even a _pathetic_attempt such as yours is still better than nothing, and the more used to it you get, the easier it will become to keep it in effect all the time."

Harry rolled his eyes in return, shakily pushing himself to his feet. He swayed and automatically Snape's arm came out to steady him. He looked up into his teacher's face with something that wasn't quite disgust and mumbled a quiet 'thank you' before he left. Snape merely nodded in return, moving to sit behind his desk, but Harry didn't stick around.

When he thought about it, Snape really wasn't _that_bad looking. He was almost half-attractive, in a strange, hawk-like sort of way. The grease wasn't really that bad anymore, for example; as it turned out, it was actually a side effect of constant brewing and lately, he had been far too busy to keep up his usually near-constant array of potions in his back room. He would never be particularly attractive, either, but when it came down to it, he had an almost aristocratic aura-the way he walked, the way he spoke, and the way he dressed even was always rather high-class. He was pale, but aging well besides; little to no wrinkles and what looked like smooth skin. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and Harry had seen him when he wasn't being cruel. He had potential, Harry admitted, though he couldn't think of any girls that would be interested.

No matter how strangely attractive Snape was, though, it didn't change the fact that he was a huge git, the big black bat of the Slytherin dungeons and besides which, Harry was straight, despite what his professor probably thought.

In all honesty, Harry wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to snog Malfoy after he had tripped. The blonde had literally fallen into his arms in the potions room just before class the day before and though the "kiss" was completely accidental, it had (after the embarrassed, nervous initial movement of Malfoy's lips) turned into a full-blown make out session that was interrupted only when Snape walked in, pulled Malfoy back by his collar and nearly threw him into his seat, giving them both dirty looks without a comment, thought the glare Draco had gotten seemed much fiercer.

Harry knew he found men attractive, but he still preferred women and when it came down to it, he really didn't want to deal with the publicity of being into men. Firmly, he locked that part of him down, no matter how attractive Snape was (even if he were willing to come out as bisexual or even bi-curious, the fact remained that Snape wanted him mauled at best and dead at worse) or how nice Malfoy's ass was.

Everyone was giving Malfoy crap about the whole incident and Harry was fighting over whether he found it funny or cruel. It had been _him_who had turned it from an accidental brush of the lips to a snog (accidentally), and though he couldn't be faulted for how enthusiastically the blonde had responded, part of the blame was still his even if he'd practically been assaulted by slender, pale hands and plump pink lips. Everyone acted like had pulled some great prank on Malfoy, but he hadn't and _that_was the part he felt guilty over.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it anymore, and turned into another dark, cold dungeon corridor. He was nearing the stairs that led up to his far more open tower when a shadow stepped into his path. He kept walking, assuming the shadow would move if he did. It did not and wearily, he peered into a dark face, sighing when the person turned his head just slightly to glare at him and a glint of blonde caught his eye.

"Enjoying yourself, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair because _of__course_this was exactly what he needed, a run in with the (very good looking) bane of his existence. He waved cheekily and gestured for the blonde to move to the side and let him pass.

"What are you doing in my dungeons?"

Harry let out a long-suffering breath and gave the blonde Slytherin the evil eye. "I'm not in the mood, Malfoy, and they're not _your_dungeons. I had a... detention, with Professor Snape."

"What, buggering him now?" Malfoy sneered, his voice tainted with what sounded almost like _jealousy_ and Harry growled half-heartedly, unable to work up the right amount of frustration due to his exhaustion. "I wouldn't have thought you were into that sort of thing- now, I love my Uncle Severus dearly, but isn't he a bit old for you? You go from me, to him?" Harry locked his jaw to prevent himself from hurling a curse at the blonde and took a deep breath, pushing past him with the intent to ignore his presence. He had no interest in Snape and Malfoy probably knew that. Being able to admit that Snape wasn't a completely disgusting bloke didn't mean he was interested, and he wasn't. He was still hoping to take Cho on a date, and though it appeared that there was no luck there it didn't mean he wouldn't continue to try.

"I wasn't 'with' you in the first place, and I'm pretty sure you're smart enough to figure out I'm not interested in buggering Snape, either, you foul little _wanker_," he snapped and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked in an odd voice, a nasty little smirk curling his lips upward. Harry didn't like the sound of that, looking up at Draco in dread. "You know, you shouldn't say things like that if you're not sure."

"I'm sure."

But that little smirk didn't go away or fade, only grew. "You know what, Potter? I think you're lying." Harry rolled his eyes and made to move away, back upstairs so he could go to _sleep_but Malfoy grabbed his arm, pulling him down and he fell, hitting the floor hard. He glared up at the blonde, drawing his wand, but Malfoy was faster and hissed a curse at him faster than he was able to catch exactly what was said.

He stared up at Malfoy in bewilderment, feeling nothing, until a sharp pain shot up his spine and the blonde smirked in satisfaction, kneeling down next to him as he curled in pain, breathing harshly and almost whimpering as spike after spike of what felt like fire shot through him. He heard, distantly, the blonde drop a bag next to him.

"That'll have everything you need for the first while," Malfoy cooed at him, his eyes cold, his smile vindictive. "Enjoy being dominated, little Harry."

He was left on the cold stone floor of the corridor.

*(An hour later)*

When Harry woke, it was to the concerned voices of several teachers and Hermione as well, though he couldn't hear Ron. He knew he was in the hospital wing, but he couldn't for the life of him remember _why_.

"—I'm not deluded, Professor! I studied this curse thoroughly, back in fourth year! There's nothing else it can be and besides, you saw the results of the wand test! You're just being stubborn." He half-smiled, a bit concerned as to what curse they were all worked up a bit, but hearing his friend argue with Professor McGonagal was just too funny.

"Stubborn or not, young lady," McGonagal responded, her voice more upset than affronted, which was odd. "It doesn't change the fact that this… is a problem. There is no counter-curse, Ms. Granger."

He looked over and noticed that the two women obviously had not yet noticed he was awake. McGonagal looked deeply troubled and Hermione's eyes were a tell-tale red. Harry was a bit alarmed; what could he possibly have gotten hit with, and how in hell did he get hit with it?

"Merlin, what did I get hit with?" he asked incredulously, unable to bite it back any longer. He had to know; he was so _confused_. "How long have I been in here?"

Both witches and Madam Pomfrey—who was standing by a first year down the hall of the hospital wing—all jumped nearly simultaneously, three heads whipping around to face him, clearly shocked. "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed and she was on him like Malfoy on bleach (something told him there wasn't actually any bleach involved in that hair, but he was feeling an almost odd hostility toward the blond).

"Calm down, 'Mione," he chuckled. "I'm fine. What's wrong?"

She blinked at him, pulling back just enough to check his heads for bumps or bruises. "Why are you in such a good mood?" she asked suspiciously. "I would have thought you'd be seething… we'd planned on having to hold you down so you didn't go and hurt someone." He raised an eyebrow.

She sucked in a sharp breath before forcing it out in a sort of half-laugh. "Well, I'll be damned." For once, neither woman behind her complained about language. "Harry, last night sometime—presumably after your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape, someone—we have no idea who—attacked you. We had… well, we'd hoped you would be able to tell us who it was."

Harry shrugged. "I don't even remember last night's lesson, sorry, let alone who attacked me afterwards. I don't feel any different, though—are you sure this curse hit me?"

Here, Hermione faltered, biting her lip. "I… yes, Harry, quite sure. A rather nasty curse."

"Then why don't I feel different—and weren't you saying something about there not being a counter-curse? Hermione, you look positively _dreadful_! What in Merlin's name was it?" Her lips pressed together into a thin line and she looked a bit paler. "Well? Hermione, are you all right? Seriously, you're worrying me." And worrying him she was; he bit his lip in anxiety, newly formed.

Hermione looked beyond nervous; as a matter of fact, she almost looked _embarrassed_, and Harry hadn't seen her truly embarrassed since her entrance at the Yule Ball the year before. He raised an eyebrow at her, a dark, uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach. What could possibly be so bad that she would be _embarrassed_to tell him? Was he suddenly a woman? A quick glance down told him that no, he wasn't, but he still felt disoriented somehow.

"Harry," she murmured, wincing slightly. "The curse that was used on you... well, it's rather infamous really... why do I have to explain it to him?" She sent the healer and Professor McGonagal desperate looks, but both women just gave her a look.

"Perhaps it's because you're such an expert on the subject, Ms. Granger," Professor McGonagal said smoothly, with an almost-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Hermione sighed dramatically, but her eyes were still troubled.

"Harry, you were hit with the Submissiveness Curse," she said all at once, and he was thankful he was used to her talking like that because otherwise he wouldn't have caught a word she had said. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"So, what, I have to lose a fight or two? Be Ron's right-hand man for once? I don't mind. What's so bad about it?" Then he thought a bit harder when she colored and looked down. "Wait... you said there wasn't a counter-curse? I'd have to submit... does that mean I'd have to admit defeat to Voldemort?" Her face darkened in color and she didn't respond. "Hermione! Does this really mean... are we all screwed?" He asked this almost in a sigh, not liking her lack of response.

"She wasn't referring to battle, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said with a roll of the eyes as she handed him a cup of water. "And since she's obviously clammed up..." He watched curiously as her face turned the color of a ripe tomato and she buried her face in her hands, elbows propped on the side of his bed. "The Submissiveness Curse, or the Curse of Submission, is a very _old_spell mostly used on slaves back when they were common- specifically, on pleasure-slaves."

Harry felt his face drain of blood, turning white quicker than a snitch could move. "And what does that mean?" he asked slowly, wrapping his brain around what she was ninety-nine point nine percent sure to mean.

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow and he gulped. "The curse was used to force the slaves of pureblood families to _need_ what was happening to them, which I'm sure I don't have to explain. Most slaves forced themselves to endure it lest it be cast on them, because the curse- as you've mentioned- has no counter-curse and if consummated, is permanent. It was literally a _need_, which became downright painful and lasted nearly twenty-four seven."

"In what situation is it _not_ permanent?" Harry squeaked. She answered calmly, giving him a bit of hope.

"When the victim can resist the need to be dominated," she said, cleaning the area around him up a bit. "The slaves in question had no options, as they were forced nearly daily, but nowadays the curse sometimes pops up as torture, or in this case, revenge for something." She explained all of this in an even tone, emotionless despite her usually irritated personality. "Mr. Potter, there is no way around this and there is nothing I can give you that will help. All I can say is to keep yourself in check and if you feel yourself losing control, you need to come straight here. We can put you in restraints now, if you'd like."

"What do you mean, _dominated_?" he forced out, his voice edging up an octave or two. "What does that mean? Use plain language, what does that mean?"

"You'll want to be dominated, sexually, by another man," Professor McGonagal said quietly. "It is a matter of being submissive, entirely, to another person."

"I could just find a _really_dominant woman, couldn't I?" he tried, a futile attempt as all three women rolled their eyes at him. "Millicent Bulstrode or something, couldn't I?"

"I don't think even _Millicent_is dominant enough for that," Hermione snorted. "What she's saying, in terms you'll understand, is that you will submit completely, and that means with your body, too. The main focus of the curse is sexual, Harry—you will feel a needto be… topped…" She struggled in telling him this, her voice sounding somewhat strangled. "It'll get worse. It starts slowly—doing as more dominant people tell you to, and then your body will feel the effects… really, Harry, it's horrible." He blanched and guilt flooded her eyes. "I mean, it's not _that_bad—it's not permanent, really, so—"

"Only if I can resist the urge to—" He almost gagged on the words. "—be _dominated_… I don't want to be fucking _dominated_!" Hermione looked a bit shocked at his outburst. "Things have been balancing just a little bit, things getting a tiny bit better, and now—ugh! I have to, what? Turn _gay_ because of a stupid _curse_?"

"Don't think of it as 'turning gay'," she tried meekly, chuckling though the sound was weak. "Think of it as… giving in to your body's… desires…"

He stared at her flatly. "That made it sound five times worse."

She nodded, wincing again. "I know."

He ran his hand through his hair, wilder than usual from sleep, and bit his lower lip, his free hand curling into a fist. His nails bit into his palm and he forced himself to let out the breath he was holding before he suffocated himself.

"Fuck."

Professor McGonagal rolled her eyes at his language and Madam Pomfrey swatted him on the shoulder. "Make a decision, Mr. Potter," the healer said with an eye roll of her own. "Are you staying here, to be absolutely certain there is no chance of you losing control, or do you want to brave it?"

"I think I'll brave it," he said with a grimace, fisting his hair as if they would help him relieve any of the stress. "Thanks, though."

"You can leave now if you want, but keep in mind, Mr. Potter," she said in reminder. "Control will be harder to keep around other more dominant males."

"I'll keep it in mind," he answered as good-naturedly as he could as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, grabbing his bag—which now contained a suspicious Slytherin green drawstring bag inside—and taking Hermione's hand, edging toward the door and away from the two witches. "Look, I'll be careful, so don't worry about me." He didn't sound too sure of himself, but McGonagal sighed and shooed him off. He took the opportunity, rushing out to escape anymore awkward explanations. "This sucks," he muttered to her as they walked quickly down the hallway. It was early, before class and he only hoped to be able to get back to the common room, shower, and get to class on time.

"I know," she said and squeezed his hand. "Sorry about all of this." She really did sound sorry for him and he shrugged, recognizing her feelings as concern instead of pity.

"It's all part of the job description," he joked weakly, but he was far more worried about the whole situation than he was eager to let on.

He had a reason to be.

**Not much Snarry (yet), but bear with me, it's coming. Cute Sub!Harry action next chapter!**

**Kandakicksass**


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry woke the next morning, he felt sick and couldn't remember why for a few sleep-clouded moments. When his memories returned, sleep fading from his mind, he groaned. He covered his face with his hands, thankfully not feeling any of the curse's direct effects—yet.

He wished he knew who had cursed him, he thought to himself, gritting his teeth. He curled up on his side, uninterested in getting out of bed. He knew he had classes, knew he had to get up at some point, but in complete honesty, he really did not care.

"Harry!" Ron called, obviously irritated with him. He looked at the magical clock Hermione had found him for Christmas the year before and noted that he was late for class. "Professor McGonagal sent me up to get you! She says what happened last night isn't an excuse to skip class—say, Harry, what _did_happen last night?"

"Don't care," he muttered, ignoring Ron's question, and added after a bit of coughing that he assumed was the curse trying to stop him from retorting. "So would you leave me alone, Ron?" He felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably as a warning when he opened his mouth to refuse and bit his tongue for a moment before answering, much louder than he needed to. His friend opened his mouth to argue and he sent him a dirty look, interrupting. "Ron, I don't want to-ugh-get out of bed, and you can't make me." The words tasted wrong in his mouth and he cursed whoever had spelled him.

"Harry, get up!" he complained, his voice almost a whine and when Harry shook his head the warning feeling in his stomach, telling him something was going to go very, very wrong, disappeared and was replaced by a sharp pain in his head. "Harry!" Ron cried and- because he was honestly afraid that his skull would split open if he continued the way he was- he scrambled out of bed, breathing harshly. Ron blinked at him, suddenly looking very confused and more than a little worried. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Ron-" But the pain flared up again. "-I was cursed!" So what, he couldn't lie anymore, either? He felt a burning hatred bubble inside of him, the desire to hit whoever had cursed him, yet once again the pain in his temple became almost too much to bear and with a great sigh he let go of the anger and focused on breathing. "I don't know who, and I really don't want to explain, so could you please ask Hermione? She knows what's wrong." In truth, he had no desire for Ron to find out, but he knew the state their friendship would be in if he kept him in the dark and he was far too tired to keep secrets besides. He trusted Ron and he figured, why should it be such a big deal?

"But I-" He cut Ron off there despite a slight twinge just behind his temples that told him he was committing some sort of submissive infraction and had to force away his anger once more.

"Please, Ron," he begged. "Just ask Hermione. I'm coming to class- just please."

Wordlessly, his friend nodded and bit his lip, freckled face deep in thought. "Harry, are you okay?" The question was genuine-Ron worrying about him and he felt guilty for being so tight-lipped. He was the one causing Ron to worry about him, and granted, his situation was less than fantastic, but it didn't mean he should cause his friends anxiety.

"I'll be out soon, okay? I'm just going to shower, and I'll be in class." Ron gave him a doubtful look, but left, and Harry sighed, sliding down the side of the bed and burying his face in his hands. It was going to be a _very_long day.

*(Three hours later)*

Rubbing his eyes in exhaustion both physical and emotional, Harry made his way through the crowd to the Great Hall for lunch feeling famished. With Ginny on one side- ever the supportive little sister- and Hermione on the other, Ron talking with Dean about dragons behind them, he took his seat at the table.

The curse was taking its toll on him and he was beginning to feel a bit hopeless. Until the end of Transfiguration, he was hoping that he could live normally despite the morning's pain at defying Ron because until that point, he'd been speaking only to women. The curse wasn't responding to their orders because, naturally, they were more submissive than him.

Of course, it had been then that Seamus had told him to hand him something and he'd done so without thought more in-depth than _must__obey_. He felt almost sick thinking about it, really.

Harry sat down next to Neville, who gave him a half smile and continued his conversation with Luna. He greeted her as well, not questioning why she was seated at the Gryffindor table.

"Hello, Harry," she said cheerfully. "Did you notice how abnormally bright Mars was last night?" Considering Luna's personality and the events of the night before, he wasn't exactly surprise to hear that. He'd almost expected it, honestly.

"Yes," he answered simply.

Luna ignored him and continued. "Many unusual things have happened since last night. It's almost strange, really, like a domino effect. Even Draco Malfoy is acting oddly. Look—he's smirking at you right now."

Harry stiffened, his shoulders tensing. He turned around to see triumphant grey eyes and felt a shock go through him before a sharp pain went through his head lasting only a mere moment. A good hour's worth of memory came back to him in a flash. His thoughts from there on were fairly simple. _You__bastard_. He went from calm to seething, green eyes darkening.

"Malfoy," he growled, his voice low. The blonde waved at him as though he could hear him, a mocking smile turning his lips upward.

"What?" Hermione murmured next to him, concerned, but he shook his head.

Still seething, Harry turned back around to face his meal. "Nothing, 'Mione. Nothing at all." But it was _something_and they both knew it. Should he tell someone? He could have Malfoy expelled, could ruin him forever. He could take away his future just as Malfoy had done to him... his fists clenched as he felt tears prick his eyes because that _was_what he'd done. He had done what not even Voldemort had done- he had completely ruined him. He would enjoy doing the same to the blonde, would laugh when he received the news.

The curse hadn't progressed far enough to stop him from doing so, and he could, but he suddenly didn't feel very much like himself. He felt sadistic and vengeful, and that was nothing like him. He thanked Merlin that Hermione and Ron were in deep discussion and were no longer paying any attention to him. After a deep breath, he reasoned that he couldn't get Malfoy expelled from Hogwarts, no matter how much it would please him. Sending him home would only put him closer to Voldemort, would give him opportunity to tell the dark lord he was vulnerable. Panic seized him as he realized Malfoy could just as easily send an owl home to Daddy.

He continued to eat quietly so his friends wouldn't catch onto his train of thoughts. He had to find a way to keep Malfoy in school, but without sending letters home, but how? Professor Dumbledore would send Malfoy away as soon as he was told the blonde was Harry's attacker and Professor McGonagal would do the same. Just who—

His eyes went from his food to the dark haired wizard at the head table, the same one he'd been admiring in a strictly observatory sense the night before. Momentarily, his thoughts were clouded in an odd way. He found himself admiring the man once more, noting the dark, burning eyes and strong body hidden by robes. He ached to be held, adored. He wanted to let those large, slender hands take control of him.

_'No!'_he growled at himself, taking firm control of his thoughts. Thankfully, those few errant curse-controlled musings hadn't been enough to make his body react, but he'd lost the train of thought he'd been on. He bit his lip, racking his brain to remember until he heard the sound of Malfoy's laughter and the desire to send him far, far away struck him again. He gave his professor a determined look and dug into his food.

Something would be done about Draco Malfoy. He would make sure of it.

*(Later)*

Harry took his own sweet time while packing up after Potions. He knew for a fact that Snape had a free period after their class and he was determined to get the man to help him.

"Harry, hurry up, mate!" Ron told him, clapping him on the shoulder (who had obviously not yet asked Hermione what curse he'd been hit with because he had a feeling Ron would be treating him a lot less like a friend and a lot more like glass). He shoved the rest of his things in his bag on compulsion (_stupid__spell_!) but hadn't been told to leave and took the opportunity to talk his way out of leaving.

"Actually, I need to talk to Professor Snape about something," he said casually. "Go on without me, will you?" Ron's mouth dropped open and he leaned in, looking almost concerned.

"What could you possibly want to talk to that git for?" Ron asked in a whisper, his voice horrified and Harry rolled his eyes.

"You're so dramatic, mate," he teased. "I have to talk to him about our... lessons." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Ron seemed to have an 'aha' moment, because he pulled away with a satisfied expression. "Why don't you two just go back to the common room? 'Mione, there's something you need to explain to Ron, anyway." She nodded quickly, much quicker on the uptake than Ron was.

"Sure, Harry," she answered cheerfully. "Good luck." The minute they were gone, Ron's robes billowing out behind him as he left, Harry turned around and marched up the aisle to Snape's desk, who sat reading over some essays. He looked up briefly as Harry approached and raised an eyebrow of his own before turning back to his papers.

"Mr. Potter. To what do I owe the displeasure?" He ignored the jibe and stood there for a moment in simple awe, hating the effects the curse was beginning to have on his already uncontrollable teenage body. Snape exuded confidence... _dominance_. He had to give himself a firm shake to keep his mind on track.

"I need your help with something," he said much more softly than he'd intended to. He couldn't remain so sure of himself, so independent around Snape now, not that he'd been good at it before. Now, the curse was telling him very firmly to be as submissive as he could in this situation and he hated it, hated having to appear ready to submit at a moment's notice.

"And what might that be, I wonder?" He bit his lip, wondering how to go about explaining the situation, when Snape spoke again. "If you're going to request that I aid you in finding a cure in potions for your current... ailment... then I'm afraid I cannot help you. Good day, Mr. Potter." Completely unreasonable! He hadn't even known Snape _knew_about his "ailment", let alone was thinking about asking him to cure it!

"That's not- I need your help in stopping Malfoy from writing home!"

Snape set his papers down and looked up at him for more than a second, eyebrows arching up in half-interest. "And why, pray tell, would you need such a thing?" He seemed to be in a good mood, which was rare after the Gryffindor-Slytherin double potions, and he thanked the stars he'd picked a good time to do this.

"Malfoy, sir, was the one who cursed me," he answered in a low voice, resisting the urge to bow his head and bare his neck. "I can't tell anyone else, because they'll just have him sent home and he'll tell Voldemort that I'm... indisposed, but he could send a letter home to tell his father what he did, too, and-"

"Mr. Potter," Snape said quietly. "You are aware I am a spy for the Order, are you not?" He nodded meekly in response. "Then how do you suppose I do this? Intercepting my godson's letters may be easy in and of itself, but eventually Lucius will get concerned that his son is not writing him, and may figure something like this has happened. I do not want to get the blame for such an occurrence that will compromise my position." Bluntly honest, but Harry had figured this would happen.

"Check the letters, see if he's telling his dad about cursing me!" he blurted. "If they do... I don't know, re-copy them without that part, or magic that part out?" Snape coughed in a way that might have almost been a chuckle.

"You honestly expect me to help you."

"Professor, please," he begged and hated how easy it was to do so. "This is your war, too, and if Voldemort finds out-"

Snape cut him off, and almost smirk on his lips. He'd never seen the man actually smile, but this was not quite a sneer, and much more amiable besides, even if it was rather mocking. "Potter, do shut up. I'll aid you until the spell has worn off." He felt a sharp burst of relief go through him and he visibly sagged, giving in and making his neck visible in gratitude.

"I'll owe you my life, sir," he murmured. Snape just snorted.

"You already do, boy. Now get out; I have far more important things to do." He nodded, grateful, and tried to ignore the way his body automatically made for the exit. He told himself he was only doing as he said because Snape was helping him, but he felt a much _stronger_urge than normal compelling him to obey. Maybe it was because he'd already come to the realization that he liked Snape—or at the very least, respected him—or because he was very dominant in personality, but Snape's orders were nearly impossible to resist. So impossible he didn't even try.

It wasn't until he'd stepped outside, his order followed out, that he'd realized the effect Snape had had on him. He blushed, biting his lip but forced himself to resist reaching down to… arrange himself. He felt dirty, perverse some how, and began walking back to Gryffindor tower as quickly as he was able.

He realized quickly that the curse wasn't something to be ignored and felt his eyes burn as the need had transferred, spreading through his body. He burst into the Gryffindor common room with a lip almost bloody from biting down on it so hard.

"Harry?" Hermione called out, her voice worried again but he ignored her and ran to the entrance to his dorm. In a state of near hysteria, Harry felt tears scald his cheeks as he took the stairs two at a time, feeling pain, literal pain, from his lower body. He knew it was the spell Malfoy had cast on him, that damned spell, but he couldn't focus on that now. He threw himself inside and locked the door behind him, warding it with all sorts of horrible jinxes that would keep his classmates from wandering inside.

Feeling sick to his stomach, he crawled in bed as quickly as he could and tossed his school bag off of it, grabbing the sack Malfoy had left him with from it before he let his book bag drop off the side of the mattress and he set the sack on his pillow. Whoever had found him had obviously figured it was his, not realizing the implications of the little bag, and stuffed it in with his school things. He'd noticed it was there earlier and had been studiously ignoring it since, but he couldn't ignore it now. He spelled his curtains shut and threw two or three silencing charms on top of it to make sure if anyone got past his wards they wouldn't have any idea what he was doing.

His trembling hands undid the button on his school slacks as quickly as they were able and he yanked the offending clothing off, still choking on sobs, as he stripped himself to near complete nudity, one goal in mind and one only. Inexperienced fingers clumsily lubricated themselves (he may not have had sex toys before Malfoy had so happily cursed him, but he was a teenage boy and he wanked often enough so of course he had lube), going to his ass without hesitation.

This was something he needed, he knew that and in the back of his mind the still rational part noted that it was a damn effective curse, but for the moment the main part of his brain was focused on one thing, one thing that was brutally satisfied by him ramming a finger up his arse without delay, letting out a harsh gasp at the feeling. Another tear slid down his cheek and he panted, clenching his teeth in a useless attempt to stop his lewd noises.

_Enjoy__being__dominated,__Potter._Malfoy's parting words haunted him, made him want to fight back but instead of pulling that finger out and telling the righteous pain in his backside to stuff itself (horribly ironic, considering), he keened desperately and shoved another one in, no tact, no gentleness. He wanted it so badly, wanted the pain and pleasure and he wanted someone to do it for him, to take complete control of his body. A vague memory of Snape came back to him and he had to force himself to put faces out of his mind entirely. What would his professor think if he knew what he was doing now?

His cheeks burned as he finger-fucked himself, shame and need coursing through him with twin flames. He joined another finger, not feeling the pain, only the harsh need that forced him to cry out because his three fingers just weren't enough. With horror, he realized what the problem was. They weren't real enough, not shaped the right way. He openly sobbed, pulling his fingers free with a squelch and reached forward toward the bag on the pillow with a trembling hand.

Reaching inside, he pulled out the first thing he touched while biting down hard onto his lower lip, wincing as he caught sight of the dildo—life sized and a dark shade of purple—that Malfoy had gifted him with. While his mind told him to chuck it somewhere, anywhere, his anus throbbed in protest.

Groaning from the back of his throat, he reached back with the toy, ignoring the bob of his erection, and pressed it against his quivering entrance, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood before pushing it in without warning, an action that pulled a scream from his lips in both relief and pain. That one had hurt, more than he'd thought it would, but he couldn't stop now; the curse demanded movement, demanded that he use his body to its full potential in this sick, twisted sense.

He knew the curse well by that point; he had done enough research. Only at first would the curse be content with him dominating his body himself; sooner or later, it would grow hungry for more and more until he was begging to be tied down, ordered around, and fucked so hard he would be broken, but he couldn't allow that to happen. Eventually—the key word being eventually—the curse would run its course and fade, but only if he hadn't given his body to a dominant.

He would never allow another to use his body the way he was now.

He cried out continuously, some long mixture of moans and sobs, as he fucked himself raw, pushing it in as far as it would go before pulling the dildo out and forcing it back in. In and out, a constant rhythm, a constant fucking, and it hurt and burned and he _wanted_because every thrust of the toy against his prostate not only satisfied the curse but brought him relief. His need grew, and grew, until in one final thrust of the toy he came without even putting a hand to his cock and he fell face first onto his bed, still choking on his tears, his hip pressed into the wet remains of his pleasure.

He cried and feel asleep with such despair that he thought later it was a wonder he hadn't had nightmares. As it was, his sleep was dreamless. He welcomed the blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat in potions with a notebook, sketching a snitch absently. He was early- a rare enough occurrence- and was now waiting for Hermione and Ron while Professor Snape graded papers at his desk. Malfoy, on the other side of the room, was working on something himself while Professor Snape kept a watchful eye on them both. To be honest, Harry appreciated it. Of all his teachers, Professor Snape was the only one who knew the whole truth and he made a point of making sure that Malfoy didn't try anything. Potions was probably his favorite class of the day, because he didn't have to watch his back all the time.

Harry knew being so punctual wasn't going to earn any points with Snape and it certainly wasn't going to make him better at potions. He knew that being around his professor more than he already was had to be wreaking havoc on his curse-manipulated libido. Somehow, though, it was easier than being anywhere else. In the past month, Ron had almost entirely stopped talking to him for fear of accidentally ordering him around, which always upset him greatly because his best friend could no longer withstand the pain it required to resist it. Because of the curse, he was almost always aroused now as well, which was awkward for all of his friends. At this point, he would rather be aroused to the point of pain because of his close proximity to Snape and be left alone than with his friends. He was fairly sure that Snape, as well, was grateful for his presence, because when Harry was around, Malfoy shut up and Snape wouldn't have to put up with his godson's chatter any longer.

Snape either didn't know or didn't care about the way he affected Harry's body and he was grateful. He didn't have a say in the whole thing- the curse was reacting to the natural dominance in Snape's personality, and no matter how attractive Snape seemed to him as of late, it wasn't his fault. Harry had, however, gradually gotten used to the idea of liking men and while he was still greatly unhappy with the idea of being forcibly turned gay by Malfoy, he'd learned to stop berating himself over it. It still made him uncomfortable, but he was no longer making himself sick over it. Normally, he would have sent the blonde a dirty look, but he didn't particularly fancy the killing headache that would be the result.

"Hey, Harry. Early again?"

He gave Seamus Finnigan a small smile as he came in. "Hey, Seamus. Where's Dean?" The fifteen year old sat next to him, taking what would be Ron's seat in a good five minutes, running a hand through his dark blonde hair. To most it looked brown, but Harry had noticed a while back that his hair was more of a gold color. He knew that Seamus would move when his redheaded friend came and instead focused on his friend's glum expression. A couple months ago, when he was still angry over the argument they'd had near the beginning of the year, he wouldn't have cared, but they'd patched things up since, and were closer than ever.

"He's... a bit miffed with me at the moment," he responded, wincing. Harry laid a hand on his arm and rubbed sympathetically.

"Sorry, mate. What happened?" He was thankful that he could still talk to his friends as a friend instead of as a servant. His condition may have made him submissive, but it didn't change his personality with his friends. He'd noticed, however, that when speaking to the more dominant men in his environment- the aforementioned Professor now giving Seamus a dirty look for some reason (probably because he was signaling how close it was until the beginning of class), Cormac McLaggen, much to his displeasure, and Firenze (which didn't end so much in displeasure so much as embarrassment)- he would become much quieter than normal, speaking unintentionally with respect and he was far more inclined to follow their orders.

Honestly, he didn't mind reacting to Snape or Firenze in that way- he knew they wouldn't take advantage of him. Cormac, on the other hand- he had nearly punched him close to eight times and Harry wished he had, in spite of the pain. He wasn't quite sure when the boy had started batting for what he had reluctantly admitted was quickly becoming his own "team", but the arrogant blonde had groped his ass twice, and spent the time spent within eight feet of each other flirting with him. The worst thing was that he couldn't make his displeasure known, and that was dangerous. If Cormac ever unwittingly told him to do something suggestive- specifics aside; even thinking about it made him sick- he would have to do it, because he had even less control around him than he had with anyone else.

"He's just been really edgy lately, you know?" Seamus answered, sounding a bit put off himself. Seamus and Dean had been together since the end of third year and as they matured, they remained good for each other unlike every other relationship Harry had ever seen. "He doesn't want to talk about it, and I feel like I'm intruding every time I tell him how concerned I am... and he seems to get angrier when I do."

Harry's heart went out to his friend, who was at that moment the very picture of misery. "I'm sorry, Seamus- if it helps, it's not just you. He's been snippy with everyone, since the beginning of this year. Maybe it's because of Umbridge." God knows she had Harry's knickers in a twist.

Seamus gave him a half smile, running a hand through his hair again. The Irishman seemed smaller than normal, and nervous. "Thanks, Harry. There really isn't anything you can do… but then, I appreciate you even being here, talking to me about it. Most of Gryffindor is rather… unsupportive." He got very quiet. "You know that sixth year, Dexon? He told me he wished we would break up, that we were unnatural. Who tells someone that when they see them crying?"

Harry bit his lip, upset for his friend. "No one decent," he responded honestly and squeezed his arm in support.

"Hey, Harry. Hey, Seamus," Ron interrupted cheerfully as he walked up the aisle toward them, Hermione hot on his heels. "Get up, won't you, you great buffoon?" Ron cuffed Seamus upside the head, but Harry- with a strange lurch- shot upward. Ron's eyes went wide and he winced when he realized the order hadn't been specific. The curse had responded despite the fact that it was directed at Seamus and Harry sighed, waiting for Ron to pick up on his mistake. Ron looked over at him and he spluttered, his face turning a horrible shade of puce. "Erm, not you, Harry. Just go back to whatever you were doing. Don't mind me."

With relief, Harry sat back down, though he bit his lip in a vague show of inner frustration. "It's okay, mate," he said softly before his friend blew a gasket. "I'm good." Ron nodded stiffly, and it was obvious he was upset, but Harry didn't say anything. Really, what could he say? He was the one who was cursed, he was the one who was screwed- his subconscious winced at the wording- so he didn't quite see why Ron was freaking out about the whole situation. It left him feeling rather... he bit his lip so he didn't sigh out loud. It left him feeling rather lonely.

As the rest of his students filled the room, Snape stood and replaced his reading glasses on the desk, walking almost casually around to the front, robes fluttering behind him as always. Harry felt a warm shiver go through him, and tried to focus on what his teacher was saying.

"-incredibly difficult, but even if you all manage to blow up your cauldrons, I have extra in the back for demonstrative purposes," he finished in his smooth voice. Harry was of the opinion that the sneer made him slightly less attractive, even if his body disagreed.

Of course, on the other side of Ron, Hermione had her hand up, waving it as her own face began to turn red. Snape sighed and nodded in her direction.

"But Professor- isn't Veritaserum incredibly illegal? The Ministry would never-"

"It would surprise you, Miss Granger," he interrupted, a half-smirk curling his lips upward, "What the Ministry will and will not allow for teaching purposes. Why, I happen to know of a certain professor who has lately been torturing one of her students with a certain dark artifact, and the Ministry has done nothing of it." Harry stiffened, rubbing the back of his hand and pulling it from the top of his desk to his lap. Snape's eyes were on his then, unfathomable.

"N-no," Hermione protested, her face turning from red to green rather rapidly. "Who would- that's preposterous!"

"(Would you like proof?" Snape sneered. "I find it hard to believe he hasn't mentioned it to you... or are you being courageous again, Mr. Potter?" Harry turned pink, looking down at his lap. "Would you please come up here?" He shook his head, biting his lip harder. He heard Snape sigh before a harder edge came into his voice. "Mr. Potter. Step up here now." Against his will, he stood and hurried over. "Your hand, Mr. Potter."

He held it out and half the class gasped. He was a little surprised to see that most of the noise was from the Slytherins, who were slowly turning as green as Hermione. Even Malfoy looked a bit shell shocked, which was a surprise in and of itself.

"Professor Snape," he whispered. "Please…" Snape looked down at his pink cheeks and watery eyes and calmly slid a hand—that sent shivers down his spine once more—from his shoulder to his own hand and manually lowered it to Harry's side. "Thank you." His voice was only loud enough for his professor to hear him.

"Take your seat, Mr. Potter," he said gently, his voice more amiable than he'd ever heard it. "Now, I assume the rest of you understand what I mean. Now, continue where we left off yesterday with your potions. We should have enough time to finish them in class." As he spoke, Harry rushed back to his chair, ducking his head as his cheeks burned.

When he slid into his seat, despite Snape's droning about how they were going to finish their Veritaserum, his peers were silent. Everyone was looking at him, and he wanted to disappear. Of all of the weaknesses Snape could have exploited, it had to have been that one—he covered the scars with his unmarked hand, his nails biting into the little lines.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, her voice barely that. It was almost inaudible and Harry looked down in shame.

"Not now, Hermione," he said softly, unsure of whether he should be mad at himself or at his professor. He was so ashamed of himself for letting it happen—he'd thought he was fighting some big battle with Umbridge, when he was really just letting her hurt him. He hadn't thought of it that way before, but he'd read it in Snape's brown-black eyes and Snape was right. He wasn't quite sure whether it was the curse telling him that or his own belated respect for the man.

As the class began their work Snape walked by their desk and while both Hermione and Ron stiffened, Harry's only reaction was to look up, as if his eyes were drawn to Snape's. "For what it's worth, Mr. Potter, I apologize. My actions just now were less than appropriate for the situation."

Harry ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. "It's all right, professor. I suppose it would have come out eventually."

"It doesn't make my actions right," he dismissed with another almost-smile that made Harry feel almost warm in a decidedly disturbing way. "As an apology of sorts, don't worry about being included in the demonstration at the end of class."

He nodded, his cheeks warmer than the rest of him, and managed a faint half-smile to match Snape's. "Thank you, sir. It's fine, really." Snape nodded without saying anything else and calmly walked away to inspect Neville's potion. Harry couldn't get the sight of that almost fond look Snape had given him out of his mind. Hermione laid a hand on his arm and Ron stared at him with some mixture of fear and horror.

"Stop looking at him, mate," the redhead hissed. "The entire class is staring, and Malfoy is looking seriously pissed." Harry felt like he was snapping out of a trance, though he still couldn't help watching Snape as he walked around from the corner of his peripheral vision. Then, of course, what Ron had said registered. He looked over at the front Slytherin table and there was Malfoy, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened. He looked almost seething with rage.

_A soft spot for your godfather, Malfoy? _

He felt almost surprised at himself for coming up with that deduction on his own, but the _jealousy_rolling off of the blonde in waves, and the anger at Harry—it was the very same way he used to look at Cedric when he was with Cho, no matter how guilty he felt for being upset at his friend later.

The class passed slowly, Harry increasingly unaware of his surroundings. Hermione and Ron took care of their potion for him, a group of three, while he sat and thought hard about the insane situation he was in. He felt bad for having his friend do all the work, but he knew Hermione could take care of it(;) even if Ron was completely incompetent, (and [not needed]) he knew they would understand. He would be fine, in time, and (he [they?]) knew it.

Everything went [along] smoothly and eventually Snape moved back to his desk, sliding his reading glasses (up [upon?]) his nose again and continuing to grade old essays(,) until there was a knock on the door. He looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Come in."

His voice rang through the large room and all eyes went to the large wooden door, most turning away in disgust when they saw who had walked through, though several looked from Umbridge to Harry and back to their potions, unwilling to say anything. It was obvious from whom his scars had come and they had all put two and two together.

"Professor," The Bitch said in her sickeningly sweet voice. "Professor Dumbledore requires your presence in his office. I'll be standing in on your class until you return." Snape scowled at her and stiffly got to his feet, sweeping to the door without a word, his cloak billowing out behind him.

"We're demonstrating their Veritaserum when it's complete in fifteen minutes," he said curtly. "Choose whomever you would like to demonstrate, except for Mr. Potter for reasons I'm sure you are well aware of—" He shot her a dark glare. "—and do keep the questions to a level suitable for children. I won't have this lesson turn into an excuse to torment each other." Without another glance at any of them, he left, leaving Umbridge standing there with an irritated expression before she schooled features into another one of her sugary smiles.

The class, which had been quiet beforehand, was now dead silent, the only sounds that of stirring spoons clanking against the sides of their cauldrons. Those fifteen minutes it took to finish their potions seemed to drag on under the harpy's watchful gaze and even Malfoy looked vaguely irritated.

"Everyone done?" she chirped. "Good." She followed this by walking around cauldron after cauldron, inspecting each one like she knew what she was looking for—and after the third potion she'd noted that was the wrong color, Harry grudgingly admitted to himself that she probably did with as often as she used it, albeit illegally. "Mr. Potter, take your sample of the potion and come up here, if you would be so kind."

His head shot up and the entire class began mumbling amongst themselves in shock. "Um," Hermione spoke up, her frightened. "But, didn't Professor Snape say—"

"Professor Snape did in fact say that due to Mr. Potter's unique situation, he was not to be used in the demonstration," she agreed, a horrible smile curling her lips upward while showing all of her teeth. "But I do think that just being unique doesn't mean that you should be exempt—so, Mr. Potter… if you would."

Every nerve, every muscle, every _inch_ of his body was telling him that this was wrong and that it wouldn't end well no matter the outcome. Still, he stood on shaky legs and as he walked forward, downed the little vial that contained the perfectly made Veritaserum and winced when all at once, he felt his mouth lock up.

Umbridge's lips curled further in a feral smirk that was far more malevolent than the other. "Have fun," she said to his peers and for several moments, there was only silence. The entire class was almost afraid to speak up, but one look from their substitute of sorts and Pansy Parkinson was asking him his first question.

"So, Potter, did you really enter your own name into the Goblet of Fire?" Anticlimactic in truth, but he would prefer to answer a series of stupid questions rather than the few that he actually cared about.

"No."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Who did, then?"

"Barty Crouch Jr., impersonating Mad Eye Moody." His voice was monotone, without a single inflection of emotion, but inside his mind was reeling, horrified as where this little game would lead. Pansy, of course, was vaguely irritated at this reply but not nearly as surprised as she should have been, and huffed, flipping long black curls over her shoulder, smirking at Malfoy. He nodded and ran grey eyes over Harry's body, which stood at the head of the class without the vaguest thought of leaving.

"So just how poor are you, Potter?" he asked casually. "Where do those hideous clothes come from?"

"I'm not," he heard himself say. "They come from my cousin, Dudley." Malfoy's own eyes narrowed and Harry thought for a moment how amusing it was that the Slytherins were always getting thwarted.

"So, what? You have money?" he probed. "How much?"

"Too much," he replied, the words tasting foreign in his mouth. "I have five vaults at Hogsmead from various businesses my father cared for, and another that served as my family vault." Would he always be forced into unintentionally bragging about his wealth?

"Who was your first love?" Neville shot off, honestly curious, and his voice held the burning _want_to know that Harry would have laughed if he could have.

"Haven't had one, I don't think," he answered and this one was a little less Veritaserum and a bit more him, though it was completely honest.

"What is your "unique condition", Harry?" Padma chimed in, and this question was of course the one that made his whole body tense and his face heat.

"A curse." His voice, despite the blandness of it, was surprisingly curt and his eyes betrayed his discomfort.

_Nonononononononono_he thought, his breathing shallow, but unable to protest.

"What curse, Potter?" Zabini drawled from the desk behind Malfoy's, smirking.

His eyes shut tightly even as his mouth moved to form words. "The Curse of Submission." He felt a strange sense of déjà vu go through him as he heard half the class suck in sharp breaths. Hermione looked down, her lower lip trembling, her eyes watering even though she knew it was true, and Ron was looked over to the side, his eyes tightly closed, his expression unreadable. Malfoy was half-smirking, half-worrying his bottom lip and everyone was stunned.

"Who—"

Malfoy shot up and cut Pansy off with a calm yet slightly distressed, "Shagged anyone yet, Potter?"

He shook his head, his throat too dry to speak, and he felt the Veritaserum's hold on him, the small amount he took, break at the same moment that Draco Malfoy stood, a wicked smirk on his face. "Interesting dilemma, Potter." He approached casually, before laying a hand on his cheek and running it down to one slowly hardening nipple. "Do you like that?" He pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head quickly, but his body had been on the edge of arousal all day and responded against his will.

Zabini stood and walked over as well, running a hand from his shoulder blades to the small of his back to his ass, and his knees wobbled, going weak. Theodore Nott was just beginning to rise from his seat, Ron and Hermione sitting there in horror, when Snape walked in, standing in shock for a moment before bellowing loudly.

Everyone jumped at his entrance. He rushed up the aisle, positively seething with rage and Harry was almost immediately pulled behind his professor's—_gorgeous_, surprisingly fit—body. "One simple order," he growled. "And not a single one of you could respect me or your peer enough to follow it. Ridiculous—class is dismissed. Malfoy, Zabini, and _Nott_—detention, all of you, with McGonagall tonight." He ignored Umbridge, who was herself half insulted and half wholly intrigued, and pulled Harry past his desk and into his personal office, which he knew from the Marauder's map led to Snape's personal chambers as well.

He felt so small, so insignificant, and so violated that when Snape closed the door behind them and looked back at Harry with such obvious, out of character concern, he felt his body shudder once, arousal still strong despite his horror, before he was crying. Tears scalded his cheeks, his vision blurring, and his face was warm. He watched through his tears as his hands shook and all of a sudden, he was being pulled down next to his professor on a small love seat and into the man's arms, who was inexplicably rocking him. There was nothing unsure or stiff in Snape's movements, not like Harry would have expected from a man seemingly unused to comforting people.

There were horrible wet sounds that filled the room and Harry knew they were his own, even if they didn't actually sound like anything he'd ever heard himself make. Snape was whispering into his hair, rocking and soothing him. He smelled like herbs and vaguely of peppermint—possibly a side effect of spending twenty or so minutes in Dumbledore's office per day. He was warm, his voice deep and soothing and Harry's body was so very needy. He _wanted_and needed and he desired and he—

Snape's lips were soft and just as warm as the rest of him. Harry's body was tight and he ached so sweetly… he wanted this man and he couldn't, despite all the rational thought in the world, think of a good reason why he shouldn't just reach up, though his tears were smeared across his face, and kiss his professor senseless, so he did.

Snape sat there, his arms still surrounding Harry, completely frozen. Harry didn't move either, just reveled in the taste of someone else's—Snape's—lips on his. Slowly, with a small prompt from Harry, Snape kissed him back and for a few sweet, blissful, _burning_moments, Harry's entire world stopped. Eagerly, clumsily, he slid a leg over (Snape's) and settled himself in the man's lap, his body pressed against his professor's. The kiss heated until Snape, in one motion, wrapped an arm around his waist to stop him from falling or moving too far away, and pushed him backward.

"Harry…" The sound of his name sounded like music to him. "No."

His entire body deflated and the sobs began again, this time from panic and horror because he was being _rejected_ and he wanted so badly, this rugged, precise man. "No, Harry," Snape whispered and rocked him again, lips at his hairline. "You know the consequences. I can't—I won't—do that to you." Harry nodded, moaning his pain, but he still wished that he could convince the man that he didn't _care_, that he would give anything to wind their bodies together and show him how much he appreciated him.

He leaned in for another kiss—swear to god he was listening, he just wanted—and Snape allowed him that, but cut him off once again when Harry leaned in further to deepen it. "No, Harry." He whimpered and collapsed against his professor's body, who rubbed his back as comfortingly as he had before.

He couldn't say how long he was there resting in Snape's lap, the rejection dulling his arousal. He was still hard—he would have to give himself a good fucking that night, he was sure—but as much as the "old Harry" would have hated it, he was now simply enjoying being in Snape's presence. The man was so controlling, powerful—so dominant that Harry felt safe and taken care of in his arms.

He worried, briefly, that the curse was becoming specific to his professor the way he'd heard it would. Logically, it probably was. He ached for his professor nearly all the time. Even while the other dominants made him hard, the only one who tortured him into such exquisite agony was Snape. He dreamed and beat off to thoughts of the man.

The want was growing.

He was dismissed while his classmates were still in the Great Hall for dinner, which had been graciously provided for them in Snape's chambers by the house elves. Snape had sent him off with a smile—still small, but there and entirely real—and on his way back, he thought. His length was hard as a rock—did that man even _realize_what he did to him?—and pressed against his trousers in protest. He rushed to the tower, his cheeks red, his hands itching to reach down and rearrange the line of his cock as a means of slight relief, but he knew that if he touched it for even a moment, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"Godric," he told the fat lady breathlessly, who looked down at the tent in his pants with a raised eyebrow. "Don't ask."

She just snorted and opened the portrait hole, which he jumped through gratefully, running upstairs as quickly as he could without falling. He wasn't quite sure when he'd begun to look forward to this. He'd always rushed through it for the sake of the relief, but now he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually disliked his nightly sessions.

Sliding into bed, he spelled his curtains shut and placed his wards and silencing spells (at least three because he was, after all, a bit paranoid), a smile brought on by relief and a sort of eagerness he preferred to call madness.

Sometime around two weeks before hand, he had found amongst the cock rings and anal toys a spelled dildo that he was particularly fond of (though he would die before admitting it), which he pulled out from under his pillow as his smile widened.

Five minutes, four fingers, and one vibrating, magically self-moving dildo later, Harry found himself was mewling into his pillow, his fingers tightly curled into his bed sheets, the only other sound the squelching of the toy thrusting in and out of his body again and again. There were no tears, no lip biting, no horrible sense of self-loathing. There was no room for it, only the pleasure. It was an awkward position, his ass in the air, his face buried into his pillow, but no less blissful than any other position he could have been in and with his eyes closed, he could almost pretend the dildo was Snape, taking his body by his own will as he curled long fingers around Harry's throat...

When he came shortly thereafter with a sharp cry that made even his own ears ring, he slumped on the bed, the dildo falling to the sheets and he lay there as his body thrummed with the last few surges of lust.

He was so screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry sat just in front of the lake, his homework for charms balanced on his knee. For once, Harry wasn't being bothered during his free period and was free to work without interruption. Hermione had spelled the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower shut to him between seven and nine at night in an attempt to stop him from becoming a recluse, so he couldn't hide in there during lunch and his homework hour. Normally, he would find an empty classroom, or sit in a small cave by the lake, but today he'd decided to take a chance. It was a lovely day, and the giant squid was playing on the other side, teasing a deer that lapped at the water.

According to Hermione, he looked even smaller than he normally did because he spent all his time with his shoulders tucked in tight, his head hung. He'd received a lot of ridicule in two weeks since he'd been outted in the middle of Potions and he was no longer the brave, if slightly irresponsible teenager he'd been before. He was silent, speaking to no one other than the few Gryffindors he trusted. After he'd been attacked by one of George's friends, he didn't even trust many of them. He had the vague notion that this was exactly what Draco had wanted, and the half-smirk the blonde gave him in hallways now just increased his faith in that belief.

Of course, there were a few people outside of Gryffindor he still trusted. Luna, for one. He thought ruefully sometimes that if Cedric had been alive, he would have trusted him, too. It made him sad to think about, but sometimes the thought of his friend—however short lived that friendship had been—cheered him up slightly. Cedric was one of the few people that reaffirmed his faith in humanity and he missed him sorely. They hadn't been _close_, per se, but it was one of those things he could just tell.  
>He trusted most of his professors—Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall… he closed his eyes in thought. Professor Snape. He trusted Professor Snape with his life… perhaps a bit more than that, if chance allowed. He blushed and buried his face in his hands. He knew nothing would happen between them, but the fact remained he <em>wanted<em>. Professor Snape had been avoiding him as of late, still being oddly kind to him in Potions but pretending he didn't otherwise exist. It was disheartening, but he couldn't say he hadn't expected it.

Harry sighed and leaned back, rolling up his charms work. He'd gotten over half of it done, and would finish the rest later. Hermione had yet to bug him about his work in the past week because the matter was, he was doing it. Rather diligently, if he was being honest. He'd even gotten full marks on one of his Potions essays, one he'd redone entirely because he'd nothing else to do in Gryffindor Tower. He certainly wasn't a good student by nature, but when bored, it was amazing the things he could accomplish. He should write a book: How To Become A Success In One Easy Step! He rolled his eyes. It would be the shortest book in the world, since that one step was incredibly simple. Destroy your social life. Done!

Harry's eyes went to the lake, watching the squid tease the deer on the other side. How simple their lives seemed—so uninvolved with things like curses and heartbreak and lust. Their mating was for procreation—even if they could use curses such as his, they would have no need for them. Harry's hands curled into fists—they would never have to endure the horrible feeling that racked Harry's body constantly, that need to be claimed, to be owned. The brunette's resolve wavered with each day that passed. He'd gone into this with full intent to fight it… and now, here he was, desperate for someone to take him, take his life and take his will. Sometimes, he wasn't sure he knew what to do with it even though he had it, anyway.

"Hello… Harry." The brunette froze, his entire body stiffening. His green eyes widened and he turned around slowly to face Cormac McLaggen, who was smirking down at him in a decidedly threatening way. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

Harry knew from experience that the only way to keep this situation from going to far was to pretend he wasn't bothered. "I'm not in the mood to deal with anyone else," he replied with a fairly authentic looking shrug. To be honest, he was amazed his voice hadn't shaken. "I'm just doing my homework; I don't see any need for someone else to be with me out here."

McLaggen laughed. "I like your logic, Harry. It makes sense, in a kind of depressing way."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said dryly. "Now, if you don't mind, McLaggen, I'm working on this, so…"

"Oh, Harry, he sighed in disappointment. "Why don't you call me Cormac?" There was a glint in his eye Harry didn't like at all. "You look… rather scared. Are you okay?" Harry normally would have bristled—McLaggen was _mocking_him!—but he only ducked his head and tried to inch away without the action being to obvious. "No, no, we can't have that." He felt a hand on his arm and turned back to see McLaggen had knelt down, his eyes dark with lust.

Harry's throat closed up on him and panic settled through his body. "Stop," he croaked, watching in horror as McLaggen's other can came and grabbed his other shoulder, turning him to face the blonde.

"Harry, stop fighting me." He saw McLaggen's lips form the words rather than hearing them. "Relax, and don't fight. Okay?" Dumbly, he nodded, his entire body going lax and he was pulled into the Gryffindor's arms. Internally, he was screaming and surely McLaggen would have seen how ashen Harry's face was, but it didn't seem to matter. He heard a low chuckle in his ear.

"No," he whispered and a tear ran down his cheek. He immediately reached up, feeling boneless, to wipe it away. He hated the person he'd become, so afraid and so on the verge of tears. He wasn't passionate about anything anymore except fucking himself and keeping his distance between him and anyone else.

He felt sick again.

McLaggen cupped his crotch, already half-hard from the contact. "I've figured it out, you know," he said almost casually. "The reason you've been avoiding me more than usual lately. Your curse or whatever, it reacts more to me than it does to anyone else." He heard the sixth year's voice turn far more malicious. "Maybe I'm just meant to dominate you. Maybe it's a sign—" He pinched one of Harry's nipples hard enough to make him cry out in pain. "—that no one else should have you?"

He wanted to pull away, to cry, to scream, to do _something_, but he was frozen, a rag doll in McLaggen's arms. "You're so small, Harry," the sixteen year old hummed in his ear. "Don't you eat?" He didn't say anything, and McLaggen's voice hardened. "Answer the question, Harry. Don't you eat?"

"Not really," he forced out as his stomach churned. "I eat a bit for dinner and lunch that the house elves give me, but I can't keep much down."

"Do you want me, Harry?" McLaggen asked, his mouth curled in a half-smirk. Harry felt physically sick, lightheaded. Without delay, he responded with a firm shake of the head and felt tears prick his eyes when McLaggen just laughed. He felt a slick tongue lick a stripe up the side of ear.

"Harry," McLaggen whispered, his voice full of such horrible promise that a single tear slid down Harry's cheek. He knew what was coming. "You _will_w—"

"Cormac McLaggen, such behavior is unsuitable for public. In addition, your actions could also be taken as attempted rape. I would advise you go back to your common room."

All at once, Harry was released and he fell to the ground, his body too weak to support itself. He didn't mind, and shut his eyes tight to avoid crying because he was _saved_, yet again. He barely heard McLaggen swearing as he stumbled away from the scene, but he did feel the warm hand that placed itself on his shoulder. He let out a harsh sound that wasn't quite a sob, allowing himself to be pulled into by now all-to-familiar arms.

"Harry James Potter," Snape—Severus?—sighed, his lips just above Harry's ear. "I'm beginning to think I can't let you out of my sight." Harry hiccupped a laugh amidst the sobs. "Oh, shush now," he murmured. "Shush, Harry." Harry managed to quiet his tears, but didn't quit crying. He was disillusioned to think Snape would let him cry forever, but he also didn't think that his professor was so heartless not to let him get the tears out.

"He tried to—" His voice was hoarse after a half hour of crying in Snape's arms. "He almost forced me to—" He didn't want to finish the sentence; he felt sick just thinking about it. Snape nodded and rocked him. "My body just…" He sobbed harder, knowing his professor must feel the reaction his body was having. He hated himself for it, and knew that Snape must be disgusted with him.

"Harry," he murmured, his voice gentle. "It's quite normal, Mr. Potter. I do not blame you for it." Despite his professor's comforting, he didn't feel any better—only worse, because his master was forgiving him even though he had almost been tarnished by some other hand.

He went still, pulling away and looking up at Snape in both fear and realization. The man met his gaze, his brown-black eyes confused.

"You're my master," he breathed, unsure of whether he was horrified or simply relieved it wasn't McLaggen, and then the tears came again. He wrenched away from Snape's arms and turned away, toward the lake. He coughed violently and was sick, emptying the contents of his stomach into the grass.

"Mr. Potter," Snape choked when his retching had fallen silent.. "What do you mean?" Harry looked up with red eyes and wiped his mouth before he threw himself at the brunette. "Mr. Potter!" He practically attacked his professor, kissing everywhere his lips could reach. He didn't feel the same sort of disgust he felt with McLaggen, only need and want and surrender because he was _done_fighting. He didn't care that his mouth must have tasted like vomit, or that Snape was trying to push him away.

His body was beginning to ache again as he clambered into Snape's lap, half-hard from before, and harder still from the proximity of his body to Snape's. "I'm so tired, Professor," he whispered, his voice hollow. His tears hadn't stopped and ran still. He knew he must look like a mess, some monster from the lagoon or something of the sort, but he couldn't quite care about that, either. "Take care of me, won't you, Professor?"

"Harry," Snape choked, his eyes not afraid but _concerned_, bless him, concerned for Harry—and that just made him want more, and cry even harder. "No, I can't! Stop!" He didn't, his fingers nimbly plucking at the buttons on Snape's robes. "_Harry._" He heard a soft spell and stopped moving. His limbs were frozen—petrified, and Harry couldn't help but groan in despair. He needed this so badly his entire body hurt. He had resisted for so long and this was how he was repaid? "We're going to the hospital wing, Harry, and Madam Pomfrey will lock you down. It will be okay."

He was gathered into warm arms and was carried from the lake. Honestly, Harry was glad he couldn't speak, because he didn't know what to say. His books and parchment were still out there by the lake, but he highly doubted someone would steal his homework and his wand was in his pocket, so he didn't have to worry about that. He couldn't apologize because he wasn't really sorry, though he did hate to see his professor so distraught. So really, the silence was better. He just rested his head against Snape's shoulder and let tears slide down his cheeks silently.

*(A Week Later)*

Harry blinked forward at Hermione in a state of shock, his arms hanging limp at his sides. He was sitting up in a hospital bed, a red robe wrapped around his thin shoulders, trying to comprehend the lack of chains around his limbs, or the news he'd just been told.

"It's… broken?"

Hermione nodded and wiped a few tears from her eyes. "Yeah, Harry, it's broken! The curse is gone!" Her voice cracked, but Harry could barely talk at all, so he couldn't really say anything. Madam Pomfrey stood behind her, stony-faced as always, but her eyes were concerned. "Oh, Harry—I'm so sorry you had to go through this! But it's over now!" She reached out and pulled him into a hug. Stunned, he hugged her back, his eyes going from her to Madam Pomfrey, to Ron, who sat silently on his other side, whispering that he was sorry for abandoning him under his breath.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, or what to do, or even what to think. "Broken," he whispered. Hermione pulled back, nodding.

"Oh, Harry," she blubbered. "This whole time, I was so worried about you—I though coddling you would make it worse, and Ron was so scared of taking advantage of you or something… you look so sick, Harry, but you can get better now."

She was right about that—he did look sick. In the past month, his heath had plummeted, and this past week was the worst. Who wouldn't fall apart being tied up for days? He looked like he'd been very sick for a very long time, his eyes surrounded by thick purple rings, his skin a listless white. He felt brittle, like a single touch would shatter him.

Then, a twitch of his lips formed a smile and Harry laughed. Softly at first, then loudly, his whole body shaking with the effort of it. Tears—more familiar than anything else anymore—rolled down his cheeks and his laughter turned silent for lack of air. Hermione and Ron went stock-still, their eyes wide in worry. "I—" he gasped. "—was going to give up! I'm so _stupid_! I forgot it would break!"

Madam Pomfrey slowly began to smile. "Mr. Potter," she said gently. "Congratulations." He laughed again, falling backwards onto soft pillows.

"You sound like I just won some prize or something," he snickered, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "But no, I'm just back to normal. Thank Merlin!" His laughter subsided, but his smile remained and he reached out to Ron, who was quivering with the force of his own tears. Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh again at Ron for being so worried about him or comfort him, but instead he just settled on hugging him tightly.

"Indeed, congratulations, Mr. Potter."

Harry turned his wide smile toward Snape, who took his place next to Madam Pomfrey. He expected this first encounter to be different—more awkward, perhaps, but instead he felt this wonderful relief to be near him again. Snape hadn't visited him once, though Hermione did, while he'd been restrained, and he knew with an almost imperceptible ache that he'd missed his professor. So his feelings had grown from the curse—but he couldn't complain.

"Stop congratulating me," Harry chuckled. "I'm not pregnant, just not under a curse anymore." His joke worked; his friends laughed with him. "Thank you," he added in the general direction of his potions professor. "You saved me."

Snape smiled, though it was a thin expression and the first real one he'd ever seen from the man. "Haven't I every other time your life has been in danger?" Harry nodded, laughing again when Hermione hugged him, still sniffling, and flashed another grin at Snape, who rolled his eyes.

"I really appreciate it," he enforced, giving Snape the most sincere smile he could muster. "You… I owe you everything, Professor." Snape rolled his eyes again, but his cheeks looked slightly darker, a pale shade of pink and Harry almost laughed again. Instead, he just hugged Hermione tighter and thanked Merlin he had Snape there to watch out for him.

Predictably, getting his life back together was a bit harder than he'd expected—half the school saw him only as the pathetic little would-be savior that had been cursed and getting rid of that reputation was a bit difficult. It involved, of all things, a month of detention with Snape for punching Malfoy in the face and breaking his nose, but he was thinking it was worth it despite the cauldron-scrubbing.

He was thankful, though, that his relationship with Snape had remained. After the curse broke, they continued to spend a lot of time together—mostly in detention, as it were—and Harry could say he knew the man fairly well. He enjoyed helping out with his potions, surprisingly, and his grade in that class was going up because of all the time he spent out of class he spent with Snape working on the man's little projects. Honestly, he would rather be there than anyone else.

Other than his small friend group, he still didn't feel comfortable with many people though his fan base was regrowing. He contributed that to the time a month after the cursewhen he'd kicked McLaggen in the balls for talking shit about him in the halls. Harry was fairly sure that the sixth year's bits would never work properly again and wasn't too surprised to find that most of his peers (and the professors, who pretended they hadn't heard a word about the incident the next day, though the entire student body was talking about it) were supportive of his violent response. It seemed that McLaggen hadn't only been terrorizing Harry and Harry now had half the female population of Hogwarts behind him.

There were still those, however, who sneered at him in the halls, who teased him during the long process of getting his weight back to normal levels (for Harry, anyway, who had always been a bit thin) and the color back in his face. Harry had never been one to pick fights, but he couldn't deny that he wanted to quite often during that time, despite the fact he knew he'd lose. He was far too small and without a regular workout, he knew his muscle mass was pathetic. The year before, he'd been stronger than ever from yard work during the summer and Quidditch during the school year, and he was determined to work back up to that.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione chirped as she took her seat next to him in Potions. Snape was in Professor Dumbledore's office and the class was waiting for him to return so they could begin class. "You looking forward to invisibility potion?" She'd taken to teasing him about his sudden love of potions, though he knew she was uneasy about the reason for it.

"It's not invisibility potion, Hermione," he corrected with a roll of the eyes. "You know that. It's only… blendy-in potion." Seamus and Neville, who sat behind him, cracked up and Hermione tried to stifle her laughter.

"Whatever you say, Harry," she managed, but ended up laughing with them.

"Settle down, class," Snape commanded as he swept into the room. "For the love of Merlin, must you always be so rowdy?" Harry and his friends quieted, but Harry only transferred his energy to giving Snape an intense gaze.

He was only a child still, and Snape was a grown man who knew how to look beyond the trivialities of youth, but Harry knew that his feelings for Snape—_Severus_, he reminded himself sternly, though he wouldn't use the name out loud—were anything but trivial however they were created. He would wait, and when the time was right, he would openly pursue the man who had saved his life time and time again… even if it were only to repay the life debt he owed him.

After all, Snape owned his life in more ways than one, anyway.

**So this was going to be a lot angstier… but haven't I had enough angst and rape to last a century? No more! I shall write a fic with a happy ending!**

**Kandakicksass**


	5. Chapter 5

**So I was going to put this off and work on my KanameZero… and decided not to. So, here you go! The LAST CHAPTER of Under the Influence! Slightly AU, due to Voldemort.**

Harry was getting irritated.

It wasn't Hermione's fault, really, but there were only so many times that he could hear one person drone on about something before it got tiring, and he was reaching that point. She did look beautiful, though, and he swallowed his irritation and smiled at her, reaching out to caress a chocolate curl.

"You look great, 'Mione," he complimented her honestly and she beamed at him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "And so does—"

"Don't say it!"

He couldn't help but laugh, though he knew that her concern was for real. He'd been dealing with it for two years and knew she meant it every time she said she was worried about him. After she'd broken Malfoy's nose (again, and only shortly after it had healed from Harry's assault), she'd promptly had him expelled. Harry had moved on by that point, but he still had to deal with her complaining about how horrible it was that he would do something like that, and how he should be thrown in Azkaban for permanently affecting Harry's future.

Honestly, he didn't quite see what was so wrong with his future. Sure, he was in love with a stubborn middle-aged man, but he didn't think that was so bad. It may have been the remnants of a curse that kept his affections firmly with Severus Tobias Snape, but his affections in and of themselves were real enough, and it could have been someone worse. Someone far worse. He thought of Cormac McLaggen with a scowl and instead focused on helping Hermione pin a flower in her hair.

*FLASHBACK*

"Mr. Potter, don't act as if this is some joke!"

Harry couldn't stop laughing, even if Professor McGonagal was getting more and more worked up as he did so. Her cheeks were turning an interesting shade of puce and her lips were so tightly pressed together they looked paper thin. Harry was alone in Madam Pomfrey's office, but Hermione was sitting outside with Ron, who looked stunned. They both knew what was going on, and Harry was tempted to just invite them in, but it was Professor McGonagal that had asked to speak to him privately, so privately they would speak.

"But it is, Professor," he argued lightly, a smile brightening his features. "You act like this is the end of the world, but it's not. I'm fine, Professor. I don't plan on doing anything about it until after school, anyway." Even his tone was light, matching his bright eyes and cheeks, which had color in them for the first time in weeks, they both knew the situation was serious.

"Harry," she sighed. "I can't approve of this! You can't act on your feelings at any time, even after you leave Hogwarts, not knowing that they stem from a curse!" Harry huffed, his smile dropping and he opened his mouth to disagree. "No! Think about what this will do to Severus—just _no,_Mr. Potter. I cannot support this."

"You don't have to," he argued, his cheeks heating up. "Sure, I started feeling this way because of a curse—" He felt so strange, talking about this with the two women, though Madam Pomfrey remained silent. "—but my feelings are real, and permanent! They won't go away—how can Professor Snape being hurt by that?"

"Knowing it's not real love—" McGonagal answered, her voice getting louder.

"It _is_ real love!" he cut in half-angrily, his cheeks heating up. "Just because it was created by some less than suitable means doesn't mean it isn't real! You would rather I suffer the rest of my life from them?" He huffed, his limbs twitching, like a rat kept in a cage. "Look, Professor. I mean no disrespect, but I do love him. However they were created, they were, and they exist. It's not fake love, just unplanned for. Remember, _I_ chose Professor Snape, not the curse." He deflated, forcing his anger down. Getting upset wouldn't do any good and he knew it. He had spent near two months denying and accepting it; he would know, wouldn't he?

Pomfrey spoke up for the first time, her tone calculating. "Harry. What exactly _are_ your feelings for Professor Snape? Specifically." Harry looked up at her through thick black lashes, pondering.

"I want to be around him and when I'm not, I don't feel quite whole. I like arguing with him, hearing him speak. I like just talking to him, learning more about him. I don't quite like it when he's upset, or in pain." He frowned at the thought. "Of course, I want to shag him silly—" He added this for Professor McGonagal's sake, who looked about ready to explode upon hearing it. "—but even if I never do, I'd still want the relationship. It's not like I just want sex. I just want Severus."

He'd meant to say 'Professor Snape', but that hadn't quite happened. He wasn't going to say anything; if McGonagal had a problem with him using Severus's name in confidence, then she could stuff it.

"Minerva," Pomfrey said softly and McGonagal's shoulders slumped in defeat. "His feelings appear to be genuine. You can't stop that." The animagus ran a hand through her hair and groaned out loud.

"You, Mr. Potter," she sighed. "Are the reason why my job is so difficult." Her glare was half-hearted, but she did seem unsettled. "Very well then, Mr. Potter. Do keep in mind that teacher-student relationships are quite frowned upon."

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded. "Of course, Professor." Despite her general pain-in-the-arse personality, he really did adore the batty old witch. She'd always been there for him, watching out for his best interest. If Dumbledore was like his grandfather, she was his grandmother. He found he didn't dislike the thought and sent her a warm smile before he left.

*END FLASHBACK*

Hermione smiled up at him. "You look rather fetching yourself, you know," she teased. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd wear dress robes again." Harry laughed, smoothing down the Slytherin-green fabric with one hand, squeezing Hermione's with the other.

"In truth, neither did I. Think about it—a little over three hours, and we're officially alumni of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." If he was being honest with himself, the idea scared him. He didn't like the thought of leaving behind this beautiful castle he'd called home for so long. He knew that eventually he would have to grow up and take down Voldemort and become the kind of washed out hero he read about in History of Magic texts, but he hadn't really thought about when that day would come.

"You don't sound too excited about that." Hermione turned away from the mirror in the room Harry had spent seven year's worth of nights with his friends to give him the look he knew well as the 'I see right through you, idiot' look. He wasn't surprised; of course she saw through him. She knew him better than almost everyone and he'd fully expected her to know what was on his mind.

Instead of delving into things she already knew, Harry just shrugged. "I'll miss Hogwarts." Then he grinned, widely and mischievously. "But, you know, if things go my way, I may not have to."

Hermione's eyes rolled heavenward. "I won't bet on it." She paused, then smiled warmly. "But if it does happen, I'll be happy for you, Harry." His return smile was brilliant.

"I want him, Hermione," he said, clasping her hands in his. "More than anything else, and I think he wants me, too." He bit his lower lip. "I've been waiting for years. Is it right that I'm scared now?"

She nodded, pulling her hands free and just pulling him in for a huge hug. "Harry, there's nothing wrong with being scared. You're about to find out your entire future—because that is what this is. You know that, right?" He nodded. When she let go, her hand was on his again.

"Because of the curse," he said and she nodded. "I don't know what I'll do if he refuses me. I'll be forced to pine for years." He chuckled, but his breathing was a little off. "That'll be the only bad thing. There's nothing wrong with loving him, but what if he doesn't love me back? I'll never be able to move on—because of this curse!" He hated feeling unsure, feeling frightened. He wasn't so terrified by the Dark Lord, but the thought of being rejected tied his stomach in knots.

"Harry, she said gently. "He won't reject you. He obviously cares about you... Or else he wouldn't put up with you." Her grin was infectious and he laughed, letting her lift his mood.

"You may be right," he allowed and squeezed her hand back. "I can only hope that you are." She hugged him again and smiled widely.

"Ready to go to the ceremony?" she asked, though she was already pulling him toward the portrait hole. He didn't verbally respond, but he nodded when she looked back at him. Nervous, he followed her down winding familiar paths and corridors, the same ones he'd wandered since he was eleven. Could he really let this big, beautiful castle go?

"Hi, Harry!" Colin Creevy called as he passed. "See you at the ceremony!" He gave the sixth year a rare smile and tried not to laugh as he nearly swooned. Colin was about as gay as Dean and Seamus were, and had professed his love to Harry several times. Funnily enough, his raging obsession had calmed since confessing his crush and Harry had been surprised to find that he didn't actually dislike the boy behind the camera. He was amiable to him, and Colin backed off enough that Harry didn't mind being around him.

"This is it, Harry," Hermione whispered as they slipped into the large crowd of seventh year students outside the Great Hall, meeting Ron. The redhead seemed a little stunned and didn't say much else except greeting the two. "Our last day at Hogwarts," she added as she settled next to Ron. "Can you believe it?" Harry have her a smile, half-sad. They mingled for an hour or so, moving aside as the rest of the school filed in, each with a congratulations of their own. Harry was hugged by several students, friends and strangers alike, and all wished him good luck on the next few hard years. For the first time, swarms of people treated him not like a savior, but like someone sacrificing everything for them, and Harry accepted their well wishes, appreciating their support. His own year mates hugged and shook hands with him.

Then he heard McGonagal's amplified voice call out for them and they entered the Great Hall, decorated gorgeously, and filed to stand in front of the head table. They sat in long rows of pews and listened to a short speech from each teacher. Professor McGonagal's was the most emotional, and she burst out crying halfway through. The only (rather short) speech that really meant anything to Harry, though, was Snape's.

When the potions professor stood, all eyes went to him. The Slytherins sat with smug smiles, waiting for the endless string of praises that they were sure they would receive, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs waited patiently for him to speak, and the Gryffindors grumbled amongst themselves- apart from Harry, who watched in rapt attention.

"Seventh years," Snape began in his loud, calm voice. "I should say that at this point, I know the majority of you fairly well. The meek, the outrageous, the proud, and the adventurous." His eyes flickered to Harry with a small smile. "I am proud of every one of you, though I may never have shown it." He paused, and them gave the largest smile Harry had ever seen on him. "This has been my favorite seventh year class despite the troubles of these past several years. You are all destined for great things." He nodded toward the stunned students and sat once more.

Harry was out of it for the rest of the ceremony, his eyes on Severus, who met his gaze once and looked away, a slight smile on his lips. He watched in awe at every slight movement, documenting each twitch, each gesture, until McGonagal recaptured everyone's attention.

"Seventh years, we have indeed had several good, if not hectic, years together. You will be sorely missed at this school." She paused and dabbed at her eyes again while Hermione muttered on his right about how emotional Professor McGonagal was being, though she was tearing up herself. "To begin the procession for your individual notes of school completion, we will begin with—"

The rest of the ceremony was a long, tedious process Harry ignored for the most part. Hermione, of course, paid rapt attention, and Ron was just as zoned as he was, nearly asleep in his seat. The only part Harry noticed was the significant lack of Malfoy's name in the procession and tried not to smirk too widely in memory of the snarky blonde who had been expelled two wonderful years before. He'd come clean about his attacker almost immediately after the curse broke, ending his vulnerability, and Malfoy had been thrown out of the school kicking and screaming about how that _damn Harry Potter _had stolen the man he loved and ruined his life. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit bad for Malfoy, who was obviously mentally unstable and in need of some serious help, but he couldn't let it get to him now. The deed was done.

After the hand out of what was essentially their diplomas, Harry let himself be dragged into a huge group hug and laughed as his classmates cried in both joy and sadness. Harry didn't cry, though he was sorely tempted to, and instead just hugged his friends tightly, knowing he would miss them as much as he would miss the castle.

The dinner that followed was the most extravagant Harry had ever had, the air permeated with laughter and tears, and then it was over and the Great Hall emptied, leaving Harry standing there looking around at the enchanted ceiling he'd admired that first welcoming feast.

"You look upset, P—Harry."

He turned and smiled at the black-haired man he so adored. "Severus," he intoned with a nod of the head, and chuckled when the man spluttered in indignation. "Not my professor anymore, are you? Do you want me to call you _Mr._Snape now, then?"

Severus rolled his eyes and stood next to him, looking up at the ceiling as well. "I suppose Severus will do." Harry took the time to admire the man, dressed in emerald green dress robes just the slightest bit darker than Harry's own. "Why do you look so upset?" Severus asked again and Harry shrugged, sliding a bit closer to his warmth.

"I'll miss Hogwarts, I suppose," he answered, looking up at Severus instead of the ceiling, who glanced at him before settling his gaze on Harry's face. "And you." He wasn't surprised when Severus gave him a surprisingly warm smile and wondered just when he'd begun doing that so often.

"How did I know you would say that?" Severus asked him almost casually, shifting to face Harry chest-to-chest. Harry almost laughed, his heart beating quickly within his chest, his breathing hitched.

"Because I've been warning you about it for a while now?" he offered, but they both knew the real answer. "I don't want to leave, Severus. You or the castle." The man nodded calmly and Harry supposed he must have given the idea of being with him a good deal of thought since it had come out that Harry's feelings were permanent.

Harry forgot himself when Severus leaned down, capturing his mouth in a gentle kiss, completely unaware of the brunette outside the door with a satisfied smile on her lips.

*SSHP*

Harry had never felt so alive before—every nerve in his body was on edge, his soul singing in exultation. The warm hands on him, pushing him down onto a large, black-covered bed, possessed him and awakened every part of him, made him yearn for more. The lips on his were warm and swollen and so _veryvery_ hot that he melted under their touch and wondered if this exquisite ecstasy was part of the curse, or just some new form of magic.

"Harry," Severus whispered and he whimpered, literally _whimpered_ as a muscular body slid in between his legs, bringing them closer together. "Are you sure about this?" Harry growled at him, half in arousal and half in irritation. How dare he ask that? He reached up, touching a pale cheek and waited, not deeming the question worthy of an answer. Severus was a smart man; he put two and two together with a slight smile. "I suppose not."

He graced Harry with his mouth again and let the seventeen year old undo the buttons on his dress robes. Harry's own lay on the floor, rumpled and likely torn from their eagerness to get them gone. Harry couldn't say he quite minded, but there was still the matter of his slacks and button up shirt to deal with, because he wanted them _gone_. Severus understood that, just like Harry knew he would. He felt every brief caress as his clothes were removed and treasured them. Harry knew he ought to feel shamed or embarrassed, laying beneath Severus completely exposed the way he was. He also knew he didn't feel either emotion.

He knew only fierce, consuming joy as Severus admired his body with both his eyes and his hands, which trailed over him and warmed him as if they radiated heat the way fire did. "Absolutely beautiful," he murmured and Harry beamed in pride. Severus kissed him and reached down to wrap one of those hands around Harry's erection. He gasped, arching up. His face flushed, his thighs trembled, and his entire body was raked with want.

"Why do you want me, Harry?" Severus asked, his voice low and seductive. The brunette looked up from the oddly alluring sight of Severus's hand on him with a glare, opening his mouth to scold him for doubting him again, but when he caught sight of the smirk on Severus's face and the glint in his eyes, his words died and instead he just whined and reached up for a kiss.

Severus just laughed into his kiss and rolled over, pulling Harry on top of him. Rocking his hips against the impressive bulge pressed against him, the brunette keened, the sound of his needy voice echoing through the room. "I love you," Harry breathed, his lips moving against his lover's. He felt rather than saw the man smile. Severus didn't verbally respond, but the kiss he left on his lips gave him an idea of his answer. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Severus reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a small clear bottle.

Harry wished he could say that he didn't completely lose himself the second a lubricated finger slid into his body after two years of waiting, two years of doing this himself. He may have technically been a virgin, but he knew exactly how this worked and he'd done it many times before. He was a little surprised his body could still respond as if this was his first time, heat coursing through his veins, wrenching gasps from his lips and making him cry out as finger after finger twisted within him, abusing his prostate and working him into a variable frenzy.

There were several whispered words that Severus whispered against his skin so Harry wasn't quite sure which one was the vanishing spell but suddenly Severus's surprisingly sculpted body was bare beneath him and something _hot_ and blunt was sinking into his body and he let his hips rock, seating himself firmly in Severus's lap almost instinctively with a loud cry. He'd been waiting so _long_ and he knew that this fire running through him was probably a remaining effect of the curse but he couldn't do anything but moan and let Severus manipulate his body.

Harry had never, _never_, felt such intense pleasure, not in the two years he'd been fucking himself in the ass regularly. There simply wasn't a competitor to Severus, who held him gently and passionately, loved and fucked him, at the same time. He'd never been so thoroughly lost in sensation, but he just could not stay grounded in reality with this man he loved so much inside of him, working his pathetic, only nearly mature body to completion.

When he came after several minutes of the most wonderful feeling he'd ever experienced it was no surprise to either of them and shortly after, Severus joined him. His low groan was nothing like Harry's own scream, but he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed.

They laid there, panting, for what seemed like hours, just pressed against each other, reveling in the closeness. When his heart calmed, a small smile curled his lips upward. "So, I suppose I'm not leaving Hogwarts, eh?"

Severus laughed. "I don't think you were ever going to in the first place, stubborn boy." Harry didn't respond. He just kissed Severus's jaw and made himself comfortable half lying across his lover, letting himself drift to sleep in his master's arms.

**Kandakicksass**


End file.
